Angel (10 page)

'Hmm.' Angel wasn't convinced. So far, she had
a crap track record when it came to choosing men:
Cal had wanted her briefly in the nightclub, then
pretended nothing had ever happened between
them, Juan turned out to have a fiancée, and now
Mickey. Men were bastards, she decided.

'Chin up,' Danni told her firmly. 'Just take a look
at yourself, you look fab.'

Angel smiled as she surveyed Danni's handiwork
in the mirror. She did look good – her skin bronzed
and flawless, false eyelashes giving her sultry, sexy
eyes, and a shimmer of gloss emphasising her full
lips. She shook out her long hair. She was here to
do a job and only that mattered.

The day was a great success. She was feeling
more and more confident as she modelled, and
while she posed round the turquoise pool in a
variety of bikinis she pushed all thoughts of Mickey
out of her head, concentrating on perfecting her
sultry come-and-get-me-if-you-dare stare and sexy
pout.

The photographer was full of compliments as he
moved around the set, shouting instructions and
encouragements. 'You should be doing the lad
mags, Angel,' he finally said at the end of the shoot.
'They'd absolutely love you.'

'Yeah, well, I wouldn't expect that so soon, I've
only just started,' she replied, secretly grateful for
his compliments on a day like today.

'Don't be so modest, it won't get you anywhere
in the world you're in,' the photographer joked,
gesturing to his assistant to start packing up the
gear. Angel smiled. She would love her career to
take off, but she certainly didn't expect it to
happen overnight.

She didn't get back home until midnight, and
once she closed the door of her flat all the buzz
from the day seemed to drain out of her. She was
exhausted from travelling, from smiling and posing
all day – and from the disappointingly empty
answerphone. She checked both her home phone
and her mobile again, but there were no messages
– only one from her mum calling to say hello. She
sank onto the sofa and kicked off her heels. It was
all very well telling everyone that she didn't want
anything more to do with Mickey, but all she could
think about was his hand on her thigh, his kiss, his
eyes looking into hers. She groaned, pushed herself
off the sofa and wearily wandered into the bathroom
and then to bed.

She was woken at ten by the doorbell. Still half
asleep, she stumbled to the door and opened it,
only to be confronted by an enormous bouquet of
the most beautiful pale pink roses, which completely
obscured the delivery man, who had to lean
to one side to say, 'Shall I take these in for you,
love? I've got quite a few more to bring in from the
van.'

Angel nodded, then watched in amazement as
the man proceeded to bring in three more equally
huge bouquets – one of red roses, one of white, one
of yellow, spilling onto every surface of her tiny
living room.

'Somebody likes you,' the delivery man joked, as
he handed Angel the card and left.

I don't know what your favourite colour is –
hopefully one of these is right. So sorry about the other
night, I was an idiot. I've tried to stop the story.
Please say you'll see me again. Mickey x.

It was the most full-on apology she had ever
received and while it didn't make up for what he
had done, at least it showed he was sorry. She paced
up and down for a few minutes, wondering what
she should do. The thought of not seeing him again
filled her with disappointment. She did want to see
him again, very much. Finally, she picked up her
phone and called him, her heart beating wildly.

'Thanks for the flowers, Mickey,' she said quickly
when he'd picked up, sounding sleepy. 'They're
gorgeous, and—' she paused, taking another deep
breath and daring herself to go on '—for future
reference, my favourite colour is pink.'

'Does that mean you'll see me again?' Mickey
asked hopefully, much more awake.

'I could meet you this morning, if you're free?'

'Just tell me where.'

An hour later Angel and Mickey were sitting in a
café on Hampstead High Street. Mickey hadn't
arrived empty-handed, the first thing he did was
give Angel a perfect single rose in pale pink.

'You're being very charming,' Angel joked. No
one had ever sent her flowers before, let alone four
bouquets in one day.

'I want to charm you,' Mickey said seriously,
looking into her eyes. 'I really do. It's been ages
since I've felt about someone the way I feel about
you. I meet so many girls in my job, and most of
them are lovely, but you're in a different league.'

He gazed at her with his incredibly blue eyes, in
a way that sent a shiver down her spine.
Is he telling
the truth?
Angel wondered. He seemed completely
sincere and she wanted to believe him.

They spent the next three hours in the café,
chatting and laughing, reading the papers together
and pointing out fellow clubbers and celebrities to
one another. Once again, Angel couldn't believe she
was now part of this world, but Mickey explained
relationships, networks and personalities. He
apologised again for the paparazzo incident,
explaining that his manager was always at him to get
publicity and had simply worn him down that day.
He listened sympathetically when Angel complained
that Carrie was exactly the same, but
suggested that maybe it was preferable to drop the
media a hint and control the situation, rather than
being caught out when you least wanted it. Angel
said spiritedly that she didn't want it at all. After the
misery of the last two days, Angel was elated. She
loved being in Mickey's company. The sexual
tension between them was so intense. Every time
their legs touched by accident, Angel felt a frisson of
excitement. She really, really liked him.

One latte became two; then they were hungry
and had to order sandwiches. Finally they left the
café, but neither was in any hurry to separate and
when Mickey suggested they go for a walk on
Hampstead Heath Angel was only too happy to
agree. It was mid-October and an unusually bleak,
cold day, but Angel didn't feel the chill. Mickey
put his arm round her and she was buoyed up
with excitement and anticipation.

'I need to ask you something,' she said as they
paused at the top of Parliament Hill Fields to look
at the spectacular view of London. 'People have
told me you've got a bit of a reputation as a
womaniser, and that I shouldn't trust you. Are they
right?' She looked him squarely in the eye.

He laughed. 'There have been quite a few girls,
I admit, probably because I've always been on the
lookout for that someone special.'
Someone like you
,
Angel longed for him to say, but instead he asked,
'How about you?'

His question jolted Angel back into reality. 'I
guess I'm like you, I'm looking for someone
special,' she said evasively – she could hardly
mention Cal at this point.

And Mickey, as if reading her mind, pulled her
close and kissed her. Angel wrapped her arms
round his neck, eyes closed, returning his kiss with
fierce passion.
God, I can't believe it. I really, really like
him
, she thought, giddy from the intensity of his
kiss.

By four, they had walked far enough; it was
getting dark and both reluctantly admitted that
they were half frozen.

'Let's go and have tea somewhere posh,' Mickey
suggested, and Angel was pleasantly surprised
when he hailed a taxi and asked to go to the Ritz.
Relaxing in the Ritz's luxurious tearoom, Mickey
ordered sandwiches and cakes, and he also insisted
on a bottle of vintage Cristal.

'Thanks for a magical day, Angel,' he said,
clinking his glass against hers and giving her his
special smile. Angel couldn't speak, just put her
head on his shoulder and smiled to herself.

That night she went home alone again. Apart from
a passionate goodnight kiss, Mickey hadn't tried to
go any further, even though Angel now secretly
wanted him to. The next day, there was a piece
about them in several of the tabloids, with one
paper printing the picture of them hand in hand,
accompanied by the headline MICKEY'S ANGEL.
Reluctantly, she spread out the paper, but she
barely had time to read it before Carrie was on the
phone to her.

'Darling, fabulous news about you and Mickey
Waters. I couldn't have planned it better myself. He
is gorgeous and it's going to do your career no end
of good.'

Angel wasn't happy to hear Carrie talking about
her feelings and her new romance in such a
calculated way, but Mickey's words from yesterday
rang in her ears and she was savvy enough to realise
that her refusal to stay out of the media wouldn't get
her anywhere. She had chosen this career and she
now had to play the game by their rules. However
much she disliked it. So she just mumbled
something about it being early days and avoided
Carrie's eager questions about her and Mickey.

As soon as she flipped shut her hot-pink
Motorola RAZR, Mickey called. 'I'm so sorry,
Angel, I did try to get the story pulled and my
manager called the paper, but they weren't having
any of it. I promise it won't happen again.'

'It's okay,' Angel replied, considering the picture
and thinking how good she and Mickey looked
together. 'I'm cool about it now, actually.'

Mickey was in the studio for the next week, in
recording sessions that lasted well into the night, so
he had no time to spend with Angel. But he called
and texted her every moment he was free, telling
her how much he missed her and how much he
wanted to see her. On Thursday he told her to keep
the weekend free because he had a surprise for her.
With every call and every text, Angel felt them
growing closer; she always wanted to talk to him,
was disappointed when half a day went by without a
phone call. She couldn't wait for the weekend. She
felt a little guilty, because she had promised Gemma
a girly weekend in London, which she now had to
cancel. Gemma said she understood, no problem,
but Angel could tell she wasn't very happy. Gemma
had always been there for her and Angel had never
had to let her friend down before, but this was
special, wasn't it? She wanted to tell Gemma all
about Mickey, how wonderful he was, how good he
made her feel, how great they were together. But
very quickly Gemma said she had to get back to
work. Angel put down the phone with mixed
feelings, torn between anticipation and regret. She
and Gemma had always shared everything, and
now all of a sudden they seemed to be growing
apart. Why couldn't she just be happy for her? For
once, everything was going well in her life.

Never in a million years could Angel have guessed
what Mickey had planned for them – a weekend in
Paris. She had always dreamt of going there and
she couldn't believe it when he told her to pack for
two nights and be ready at seven a.m. for the car to
pick her up. She could barely sleep all night, fizzing
with excitement at the thought of being with
Mickey for two whole days, in the most romantic
city in the world.

'I've missed you so much, babe!' Mickey
exclaimed as she got into the car, immediately
putting his arm round her and kissing her.

'And I've missed you,' Angel replied, pulling
away a little, suddenly shy at being so close to the
famous singer. But her shyness quickly melted as
Mickey held her close. She was so excited as they
got out of the car at Waterloo and headed across
the station concourse to the Eurostar check-in. She
didn't even mind when Mickey stopped to sign a
couple of autographs for some young girls, but
then she froze, convinced she had heard the whirr
of a camera rewinding behind her.

'Hey,' she exclaimed, spinning round and seeing
a photographer staking them out a couple of
metres away. Immediately her smile disappeared
and she pulled her baseball cap down over her
face.

'Come on, Mickey, there's a photographer, let's
get on the train.' She didn't want some paparazzo
making money out of their romantic weekend.

'Chill out, babe,' Mickey answered, not sounding
at all bothered, but Angel grabbed his arm and
pulled him towards the platform.

As soon as they boarded the train and settled
down into first class, Angel anxiously scanned the
seats around them, checking that the photographer
wasn't following them. Mickey laughed when he
saw her worried expression.

'He's not on the train, babe, he just got lucky.
Now let's have some champagne and you can tell
me what you've been up to.' A glass of champagne
later, snuggled up close to Mickey, chatting, flirting
and kissing, Angel forgot all about the photographer.
Instead she had butterflies of excitement
at what would happen when they arrived at their
hotel.

Mickey had booked them into the Ritz, telling her
their suite was the one Princess Diana had always
stayed in whenever she came to Paris. Angel felt a
delicious shudder of apprehension as they were
shown to their luxurious suite. This was it, then, but
to her surprise there were two bedrooms adjoining
the huge living room.

'See,' Mickey whispered, wrapping his arms
round her, 'I didn't make any assumptions.'

Angel half wanted to stay there. It felt so good
being held by Mickey, but he had other ideas and
whisked her down to a tasty lunch of lobster and
frites (both of them giggling when the snooty
maître d' raised an eyebrow at Mickey's request for
ketchup). Then he insisted that they start their tour
of Paris by going up the Eiffel Tower.

'You're okay to walk, aren't you?' he asked as
they left the hotel.

'God, yes, I want to walk!' Angel exclaimed. 'I
can't wait to see Paris.' They wandered along the
busy streets with their arms round each other,
taking in the sights, looking in boutiques and
stopping every now and then to steal a kiss.

'Do you know what, babe?' Mickey asked her, as
they stood on the fifth level of the Eiffel Tower,
looking at Paris spread out beneath them, putting
his arm round her, and pulling her close to him. 'I
wouldn't want to be here with anyone else but you.'
Angel took a deep breath. All her life it seemed she
had been hiding her feelings, but she wasn't going
to any more. She shook back her long hair and
tilted her chin defiantly. 'And I wouldn't want to be
here with anyone else but you,' she said, turning
round to kiss him.

By the time they returned to their hotel suite,
walking back through the brightly lit streets, Angel's
mind was made up. She wanted Mickey, wanted
him more than anything, and she couldn't wait
another minute. She knew she would have to make
the first move, having played hard to get until now,
even though she would have preferred him to.

'I'm going to have a bath,' she told Mickey as he
poured them each a glass of champagne. She filled
the bath with bubbles and lit candles and deliberately
left the bathroom door open. After she had quickly
cleaned her teeth, making a face at the combination
of champagne and toothpaste, checked out her
appearance in the mirror and arranged her hair into
a ponytail, she undressed and stepped into the bath.
She waited a few minutes, before calling softly,
making her voice low and husky, 'Mickey, can I have
some more champagne, please?'

A moment later, he came in, carrying the bottle
of vintage Cristal. Angel held out her glass and
looked at him from underneath her lashes while he
filled it up. 'Thanks,' she whispered, taking a sip.
Then, 'It's a very big bath.'

'Yes, it is,' he agreed, smiling.

'I just wondered,' She said, taking another sip of
champagne, 'if you wanted to get in with me?'

'Well,' he replied, 'I could, but I don't want you
to take advantage of me.'

'You cheeky bastard!' Angel exclaimed, and,
feeling a surge of confidence, added, 'Get your kit
off and get in here!'

Mickey needed no further encouragement. He
ripped off his shirt, revealing his firm, toned torso,
unbuttoned his jeans and let them fall to the floor,
pausing for a moment in his white Calvins, which
gave a pretty good impression of what they might
contain, then slipped them off too. Angel was
impressed. Then, in all his gorgeous, tanned, firm
nakedness, Mickey got into the bath with Angel. He
lay back opposite her, his legs trapping her on either
side, and the two of them contemplated each other
through the steam and the bubbles. Angel was dying
to touch him; she smiled at him shyly and that was all
it took for Mickey to sit up and pull her towards him.
She moved into his arms and they kissed hungrily.

His hands were sliding over her body, caressing
her breasts, moving further down, slipping
between her legs.
God, he's turning me on
, Angel
thought as he teased her, and she in turn touched
his smooth skin, running her hands across his back,
then his firm stomach, and then dared herself to go
further.

'God, I want to fuck you,' Mickey groaned as she
caressed him.

But they were fighting for room to move, water
spilling out of the bath and drenching the marble
floor. Mickey took her hand and pulled her up.
'Let's go into the bedroom.'

Not caring that their bodies were still dripping
wet, they fell onto the huge double bed. Mickey
carried on his tantalising exploration of her body,
kissing her breasts and caressing her, sending
ripples of pleasure through Angel as he moved
down her body, kissing her stomach, her thighs and
ending up between her legs. As his tongue circled
her, Angel moaned, conscious of nothing but the
feel of his tongue against her. She was close, but
wanted to touch him, feel him, taste him.

'Come here,' she said breathlessly, pulling him
up the bed. Once she had him where she wanted
she began her exploration of
his
body, showering
his skin with kisses, moving down his body until she
gently took his cock in her mouth.

'That feels so good, babe,' Mickey groaned,
closing his eyes with pleasure.

After a few minutes he murmured, 'Come here,'
and he pulled Angel up beside him. He picked up
his glass of champagne and the two of them took
turns to take sips, gazing at each other, flushed with
desire, but only for a moment. Mickey put down the
glass and then he was on top of Angel, pressing his
body against hers. She arched her back, pressing
against him, wanting only to feel him inside her.
Just when she thought she'd scream if he didn't give
her what she wanted, he slid inside her.

It felt so good. She wrapped her legs around his
body and kissed him deeply.

'God, you feel so good,' he groaned, thrusting
into her. Then they switched, so she was on top and
his hands were caressing her, bringing her closer
and closer to orgasm.

'Condom,' she said suddenly, feeling that he too
was getting close. For a second he looked as if he
couldn't stop, then he reached under the pillow for
the condom and ripped open the wrapper with his
teeth. Now Angel could let go, surrender to the
feeling building up in her. She closed her eyes and
tilted back her head.

'Yes,' she moaned as the orgasm rippled through
her body.

'Oh, God, yes,' Mickey echoed as he reached his
own.

Laughing and breathless, Angel collapsed beside
him.

'That was so fucking good,' Mickey whispered.
'You're so fucking sexy.'

'So are you,' Angel whispered back.

That night they made love all over the luxurious
suite – on one of the elegant sofas, on the
ridiculously thick carpet ('We're shagging on the
shagpile,' Angel had said, giggling) and on the bed
again. Sex with Juan had been sweet, but this was in
a different league, maybe because Angel felt more
experienced, freed from any inhibitions. She loved
seeing how much her body turned Mickey on,
loved touching him, kissing him, tasting him. She
discarded any fears she had that Mickey was after a
quick shag when they finally curled up together on
the huge double bed in the early hours of the
morning, exhausted but unable to let each other
go.

'I think I'm falling in love with you, Angel,'
Mickey murmured to her.

'Really?' Angel couldn't keep the smile off her
face. She had always wanted a man to be as open
and passionate as she was, and here he was, right
next to her. 'I'm falling in love with you, too,' she
whispered, turning round to kiss him on the lips.

They spent most of the next day in bed, leaving themselves
just half an hour to catch the train and no time to explore Paris. But Paris
would always be there to come back to, and making love with Mickey had been
the most intoxicating experience of her life. That night, Mickey and Angel
took a taxi back to Mickey's penthouse overlooking Hyde Park, in one of the
most expensive and exclusive areas in London. Inside the enormous living room,
everything screamed pop star – from the floor-to-ceiling windows, the
heavy cream silk curtains, the huge expensive-looking white leather sofas,
the white carpet that Angel's heels sunk into, the giant plasma-screen TV,
covering most of one of the walls, the life-size black and white photograph
of Mickey walking down a New York street, copying the classic James Dean pose,
black coat slung round his shoulders, hands in pockets, looking moody; the
hundreds of CDs and DVDs spilling off the shelves and scattered on the floor,
the five framed gold discs occupying centre stage above the ultramodern, minimalist
fireplace. There was a purple pool table, a set of weights and an exercise
bike and the room still didn't feel cluttered.

'What an amazing place,' she exclaimed, looking
round and seeing the stunning view across the park
and the London skyline. 'I'll never be able to have
you back to my tiny flat!'